


am not bound

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Season 5 Spoilers, Sleep Deprivation, and catra is Feeling It, angst dialed up to 11 im warning yall, does NOT make for a jolly good time, hair cutting, having your long hair cut by an evil dictator without your permission, my girl is NOT okay, yes this is another catra cuts her hair fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Catra's hair was long and wild and messy--but it was her.Shewas messy. She was wild. He'd said, with disgust, that cutting it was one way to tame her.But he didn't get it. Messy was the problem, and in it's own way, that was thepoint.So she tries again.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 254





	am not bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentcalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentcalliope/gifts).



> i wasn't going to write anything for this scene but agentcalliope literally bullied me into writing it so. blame her 
> 
> cw for very briefly referenced child abuse

She hadn’t really slept. 

Catra didn’t know the last time she’d _really_ slept. The time on the ship felt like a fever dream, like one waking nightmare that still clung to her in flashes of vision and the curl of whispers around her ears. It was true--sometimes she’d sit on the bed they’d given her, prop herself in the corner of the wall and stare--just stare at the door and wait for the green haze to envelope it, to confirm what every last person on that ship already knew: she was a prisoner. But the green haze never came; they let her roam the ship at her will. And yes, sometimes her eyes would slip closed and stay closed for a length of time she couldn’t really put a finger on. 

But she didn’t _sleep_. She didn’t rest. She went unconscious for just enough time that her heart would keep working, and that was it. She hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in … well. It was better not to think about. 

She didn’t remember sitting up in her bed. Not _her_ bed. _The_ bed--the one Adora and the others had given her. Even when they got back to Etheria, Catra knew that there wasn’t a single thing left that was really _hers_. 

Her hands shook. She dug her sharp nails into the fabric of the mattress, and then, when that wasn’t satisfying, moved to dig them in the back of her skull. 

Her hands froze. 

The feeling of shortly cropped hair on the back of her neck was a surprise. She’d felt it almost immediately upon waking. Her head felt lighter, more than she would’ve ever considered it could have. She didn’t realize how much her hair--long and wild as it’d gotten--was weighing her down. When she was … under his influence, she’d watched them cut it--not through her own eyes, but through _all_ of them. That’s how it was. There wasn’t just Catra. She felt every footstep, heard every thought. 

_Hive mind_. It was a fitting term. Each and every life aboard the ship had swarmed her mind, and though now she was free, she was safe, it felt … quiet. 

Lonely. 

Her nails dug into her neck for just a moment longer. She let them lift and experimentally rub against her cropped hair. She didn’t remember the last time it had been cut. She’d always hated it. Something so sharp so close to her, and she just had to trust that whoever’s hand they were in wouldn’t mess up, wouldn’t hurt her. 

Shadow Weaver had only tried once. She’d gotten a bit hand for the effort. Catra had gotten worse in return. 

Her fingers curled through the short strands. 

She hadn’t cared when it was one of the clones cutting it. It was what _he_ wanted, so she was happy to oblige. Her hair was too long. It was messy. _Wild_ , just like her. He’d said it with disgust. This was one little way he could tame her. 

A strangled yell rose in Catra’s throat. She felt like, maybe, if she was loud enough, angry enough, she wouldn’t feel so afraid. 

God, she felt _lonely_. How sick was that? 

She rose from the bed and stumbled to the attached bathroom. The bathroom was shared between two rooms, so she quickly locked the door on the other side. She let her eyes rise to meet themselves in the mirror, only startling back a little when they were wide and far too wet. 

“Look at yourself,” she hissed. She twisted her head this way and that. She looked different. Unrecognizable, almost. Her greasy hair fell in locks around her face, limp against her forehead. Even to her own eyes, she looked exhausted. Her eyes were bleary, set atop dark bags. Her mouth seemed etched in a permanent frown. The dark hairs of her eyebrows were patchy where she’d pulled them out from nerves. And her hair. Shit, her hair. 

Her mind scattered and jumped. She saw herself, by Prime’s side. She saw herself, sitting obediently in the chair. She heard the sharp snip of the scissors in her ear. 

When she snapped back to place, her jaw was trembling. 

“ _Stop it_.” Her hands gripped the edges of the sink. “ _Stop_ \- Just--” 

She swiped away the tears on her cheeks, too embarrassed to even acknowledge them. 

The ship jumped suddenly, and the fur on Catra’s shoulders stood as she hissed in surprise. There wasn’t anyone to hiss at besides her own reflection. 

She jumped again at the loud clatter on the ground, tail puffing with nerves. She hadn’t even noticed the little box on the counter, so wrapped up in her own morbid spiral. 

She leaned down and picked up the box. She didn’t recognize the symbol on the front. First Ones something or another. 

The latch snapped open, and her fingers raised the lid. 

Oh. A medical kit. 

There were some bandages, but not many. It looked like some had been used. There was a vial of some sort of ointment, some sort of injector. There were also … 

Her fingers closed carefully around the handle of the scissors. 

They were small. Meant for cutting gauze and stitches, she mused. They wouldn’t be good for … 

She glanced back to the mirror. 

Her hands shook as she took the first greasy lock, pulled it taught, and with an electrifying _snip_ , cut it in two. She stared at the hair between her fingers, then let it fall into the sink. 

It was fine. This wasn’t like … She wasn’t acting out, she wasn’t _crazy_ , it was just … It’s not like any of this was real. It’s not like anything had been real for a long time. 

(It was too real, was the problem, though she wouldn’t dare to admit it. Everything felt too real, too much, _too loud, too important_ , and, and ... It didn’t _matter_ , nothing mattered, because she’d screwed it all up. Everything that had ever mattered, she’d lost, she’d chased it away. _Her_ , away. 

She’d come back. 

But that wouldn’t last for long.) 

She cut another strand. 

It looked worse the more she went on, but that was … it was part of the _point_ , because it was messy, like she was, it wasn’t good and nice and right, it … it was wild. It was just her. 

Her biggest mistake was that she hadn’t heard the sound of her own sobs, hadn’t even realized she’d started crying. She didn’t realize she’d yelled and smashed her fist against the glass until it had already started to ache. 

Because … it was messy, and that was the point, but it was also the _problem_ \--she was the problem, she always had been. And she couldn’t hide behind her hair anymore, behind the weight of her visor. It was just this--just her--her own open face staring back. 

She flinched as the door to the bedroom cracked open, and realized she hadn’t even bothered to close the bathroom door. Of course it was Adora who came stumbling in, ever eager, ever worried. 

“Catra--” Adora breathed, and Catra didn’t know why she fought. She fought as Adora tried to wrestle the scissors from her grip. 

Adora won. Of course she did. 

Her grip was weak, she thought. She hadn’t slept … 

“You could’ve hurt yourself,” Adora admonished, like they hadn’t spent the last however long beating the shit out of each other in a never-ending string of battles. She let the scissors clatter to the counter beside them. 

Catra didn’t say anything. She didn’t have anything to say. 

Adora blinked, as if finally seeing her. Her eyes swept between her newly cropped hair and her face. 

“You cut it,” she said, dumbly. 

Catra swallowed. Her eyes dropped. It felt stupid, now. She’d thought it some sort of reclamation, but … She wiped away the tears on her cheeks. 

“It looks …” Adora trailed off, and Catra found herself desperate to know where the sentence would’ve led. “I would’ve helped.” 

“Yeah, like I trust you and sharp objects.” 

Adora chuckled. Catra wondered if she’d meant it as a joke. 

“I can at least get the back. You, uh … really did a number on it.” 

Her hand shot up to feel the hair on the back of her head, cheeks heating in obvious betrayal. The hair was choppy and uneven beneath her fingers. 

“Do you--” Adora paused, hesitant. “-want me to?” 

There’d been a time when Adora wouldn’t have asked. For things like this, for things that _meant_ something, they didn’t really use their words. They just knew. They always had. So there was a lot they never really said. 

(Words they never would say.) 

But they weren’t those people anymore. 

Catra swallowed. 

“I don’t need your help.” 

“I know,” Adora said. She sounded … sad. “I just … thought it might be easier.” 

Catra stared, wide eyed, and hated how painfully her heart was beating. Whatever this was, it was _hard_ , in a way that things had never been hard between them before. 

“I’ll be careful,” Adora said. 

_I won’t hurt you_ , she didn’t. 

Catra hoped the risen fur on her shoulders wasn’t too obvious. 

“Whatever,” she spat. 

She turned, watching Adora in the mirror. With trepidation, the other girl picked up the scissors. 

She couldn’t help but close her eyes when Adora’s fingers found their way to the hair on the back of her neck, straightening it out, finding where it was uneven. She crossed her arms, trying to contain the way they trembled. 

Adora probably wouldn’t notice. She never really noticed things like that. 

Her shoulders clenched as the scissors snipped behind her head. Part of it was the sound--she hated the metallic hiss. But part of it was … well, she imagined, anyway … domestic. And nothing that could match that descriptor had any place in a life like hers. 

“How short do you want it?” Adora asked, brushing away a little clump. Her fingers touched the metallic chip and quickly pulled back. 

“I don’t care,” Catra grumbled. 

There was silence. Grudgingly, she opened her eyes. 

Adora wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the back of her neck, where that damned chip was embedded in her skin. Then, her eyes turned to the stray clumps of dark hair that littered the bathroom sink. 

“Obviously you do.”

Catra’s arms shook. She let her nails dig into her skin. 

“Short.” 

Dutifully, Adora went to clipping. Regardless of her intent, it probably wasn’t going to look good. She didn’t think Adora had ever done this before. That was fine. It didn’t have to look good, she just didn’t want … 

She didn’t want _him_ to have touched it. 

“I’m gonna get behind your ears,” Adora told her, waiting a few moments before moving. Catra was glad for the warning. She screwed her eyes shut as the metallic snip got louder. 

“Okay,” Adora said after a few minutes. “I think that’s it.” 

The scissors met the counter. Catra blinked her eyes back open. 

She didn’t look at herself first, just at Adora, who was watching her in the mirror. She should probably thank her for the help, but her tongue was stuck fast within her mouth. 

After a moment, she turned her gaze away. She twisted her head and stared at the newly shorn cut. 

She swallowed. She felt nauseous. 

“It’s fine,” she said dryly. 

Adora turned her gaze away. “Do you need anything else?” 

_I can’t sleep_ , Catra wanted to say. _I haven’t been able to sleep in so long_. 

“No.” 

Adora nodded, chewing on her lip. 

“I’ll, um. I’ll let you rest, then.” 

She turned and left the bathroom, and Catra wanted so badly to reach out and catch her arm, but didn’t. She stared at the spot Adora had emptied, shoulders shaking, hands curling to let her claws dig into her flesh. 

“Stay,” she whispered, a broken plea, into the silence. 

And only silence met her ears. 

Her hand rose, palm scuffing through her short hair. The texture was completely foreign. It didn’t feel real. None of it felt real, but it was _too_ real, all of it made so by the mess of cut hair and the tears on her cheeks. 

She gripped the short strands and tugged. Her hand dropped. 

She sunk to the floor, out of sight of the mirror. Her arms wrapped around herself, tail curling around her legs. It was stupid, the stupidest thing in the world--the universe--to be upset about her hair. So much had happened. So much that would haunt her when she tried to close her eyes. 

But now all of it came flooding back each time she looked in the mirror. 

She let her forehead drop to her knees. 

_"Stay."_

**Author's Note:**

> enjoyed writing for this show way more than i expected so if you want to see something else drop a prompt on tumblr @ buckysbears


End file.
